The words hit me like a physical blow. I watch him turn away, each step widening the chasm between us. His shoulders are rigid with tension, but I catch the slight tremor in his hands—the only visible sign of how deeply Scott's words cut.

The space he leaves behind feels charged with hurt and shattered possibilities. The contrast between this Nate and the one who held me last night, who whispered vulnerabilities against my skin, makes my chest ache. I want to run after him, to remind him that he's more than Scott's poisonous words, more than the damage his father inflicts.

But I stay, understanding with crushing clarity that sometimes love means knowing when to let someone bleed in peace.

Even if every instinct screams to stem the flow.

41. Nora's Mixtape #17

CHAPTER 41

NORA'S MIXTAPE #17

NATE

Scott's words detonate like grenades in my head. I'm used to my father's usual arsenal—useless, fuck up—but what destroys me is his final blow before Nora interrupted.

"You're exactly like your mother. I should have given you away when I had the chance."

Molten rage courses through my veins as I storm to the boat shed, each step weighted with years of accumulated pain. The world constricts around me, familiar panic clawing at my chest. My lungs forget how to work, my heart is like a wild animal trying to break free of my ribcage. The boat shed walls press in, suffocating me with memories I can't outrun.

Too tight.

Too fucking tight.

I demolish the nearest object—an old toolbox—sending bits of metal and plastic flying. Blood wells from where steel slices my hand, but even that sharp sting can't silence the war zone in my head.

I need something.

I need out.

I need release.

The bags of pills—oxycodone and opioids I'd had stashed in the boatshed weeks ago—mock me from the table. They whisper an old truth: once an addict, always an addict. Once a fuck up, always a fuck up.

I'm dancing with the devil, both in my mind and in those small white capsules that promise oblivion. My hands tremble as I run them through my hair, desperately seeking stability in reality. The demon inside me pirouettes on the edge of my sanity, every fiber of my being craving that chemical silence.

One second is all it would take.

One moment of stillness.

One breath where my mind isn't a battlefield.

The truth cuts deeper than any blade—I don't chase these pills for pleasure anymore. It's pure survival, a desperate attempt to numb the chaos. The addiction coils around me like a serpent, promising peace.

"Don't do it, Nate."

Nora's voice slices through the storm like a lighthouse beam. My knuckles whiten against the table's edge, shame burning through me.

"I told you I needed to be alone." My voice is fragile.

"No." Her response is steel wrapped in silk.